Decimate
by JustCallMeMarly
Summary: Nothing will fix this but death and destruction. No one will escape. Not even those on the peripheral… Is there such a thing as "peripheral"? Team-centric, but pairings may emerge
1. Somewhere

**Summary:**** Nothing will fix this but death and destruction. No one will escape. Not even those on the peripheral… Is there such a thing as "peripheral"?**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Criminal Minds. I'm merely playing with the fandom. If I did own Criminal Minds, JJ would **_**never**_** have left the show because of her new position (Hullo, potential for use? What?) and there would be more JJ/Hotch (Cuz I'm an obsessive shipper – so sue me – and they're the one I pick out of all the possible ships).**

**Rating:**** K+ for now. This may go up as the story progresses and plot takes over.**

**A/N & Warning:**** This follows a few weeks or so from the final scene in episode 6.18 "Lauren". If you haven't seen it yet, I strongly suggest you do not start reading this yet. Not quite sure how this is going to play out – it's my first Criminal Minds fic – but I'm curious, so let's take a ride. Be patient, though, the first few short chapters will come fast and furious because if I'd combined them, it'd have broken up my focus. You'll see what I mean. LOL!**

**Decimate **

"_If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"  
- William Shakespeare_

**Somewhere**

He couldn't say that he was enjoying life, per say, but he knew that the decision to leave the BAU and Quantico behind all those years ago was the right one as he could finally feel the ghost of a genuine smile flit across his face.

He folded the first letter in a multitude of letters postmarked from fairly recent all the way back very nearly five years ago. Carefully, the paper was returned to the envelope. With a hand that felt steadier than it had in a long time, Jason Gideon picked up the next letter.

In a moment of fatherly-like weakness, he'd sent a single text with a simple post office box listed. It hadn't surprised him that when he'd finally returned from his self-imposed exile that he'd had a box stuffed full of letters with a return address of Quantico, Virginia.

This time the smile widened, even if just fractionally. Jason knew that it was Spencer Reid's way of saying he was missed and welcome back. As he opened the envelope, he couldn't help but think that Spencer wrote a narrative like he usually spoke – intelligent, rambling, if a little awkward.

Scanning over the paper, Jason realized he'd grabbed a letter out of order. He'd fast forwarded suddenly… and what he saw made him frown. While David Rossi had integrated well into the group, Hotch had very nearly been killed, Haley Hotchner was dead, Penelope Garcia had been shot and almost died, and Jennifer Jareau was no longer with the team. There were more instances Spencer outlined, but he'd caught the major point of it all. When he'd driven off into the figurative sunset to attempt to find what was left of his humanity he'd conveniently forgotten that the rest of the BAU would soldier bravely on. And sometimes that meant there would be casualties. Another fact he'd conveniently forgotten.

With a sigh, he ran a hand over his eyes as his not-so-steady-anymore hand returned the letter back to its envelope again. He paused for a moment, staring at that mocking pile of paper in front of him. The question rang through his head as he contemplated his next move. _Did he want to know_?

Yes, he did. His hands quickly picked up the envelopes and he sifted through them all to find the most recent postmark. When he found it he made a mental note that it wasn't Spencer's typical handwriting. Still, the return address was listed as Quantico and could only assume it had been someone else on the team deciding to make their presence known. Quickly, he split open the envelope and took out a single piece of paper – another oddity in comparison to the tomes of Spencer's usual rambling.

As he opened the paper and his frowned deepened, he realized that there were a few other things that he'd conveniently forgotten… The paper slipped from his hands to the floor, but his eyes could only stay focused on the big, bold lettering of one simple word.

**DEAD.**

**To be continued…**


	2. Empty

**Disclaimer**: **Insert standard disclaimer here.**

**A/N**: **Hope that first part was decent enough. I loved Jason Gideon and I always miss him. I couldn't leave him out of my first venture in the Criminal Minds fic-dom. And just so you know, I am sure you will quickly pick out who my favorite characters are even though I truly intend this to be an ensemble piece first and foremost as the show is ultimately an ensemble show. We'll see how I stick to that plan.**

**Decimate**

**2. Empty**

"I'm home! Chere?" the Cajun accent rang through the house. It echoed back to him unanswered. With a sigh, William LaMontagne Jr. slipped out of his suit coat and quickly unclipped his gun and badge from his belt and laid them on the counter. He'd missed being a part of the department more than he'd thought he would…

Their house was modest, a dwelling place for a modest family. They could easily afford something more, especially with JJ's position at the Pentagon, but she had been adamant about keeping life simple for Henry.

"JJ?" he called one more time, to confirm that the house was empty. His eyes scanned the counter tops, the usual location of a note from his girlfriend explaining her whereabouts. It was usually a quick, simple note with a quick, simple answer to his quick, simple question… something he relished now that she had her feet on the ground more often than she had with the BAU. They now had time to connect again with her regular hours and build a more stable family unit with mommy, daddy and Henry. Things were good. And he was beginning to wonder if they could make things even better…

There was no note placed on the counter for him to find. Usually that meant that JJ had made it home in time to grab their son and run a few errands, thinking she would be back before Will made it home. He crossed the room to open the refrigerator to grab a beer. He popped the top as he spotted the daily mail sitting on the table. With a sigh he picked through it, his eye catching on an envelope with a handwritten destination. It was addressed to both he and JJ, postmarked from Quantico. Curiosity getting the better of him Will set down the beer and quickly opened the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper. Whatever contentment he'd been feeling in that moment was washed away as he slapped the paper down onto the table.

"What the hell?" he growled.

**DEAD.**

The word stared up at him, black and bold, as he mentally tried to put together the basic pieces.

He'd pissed off a lot of people in his tenure as Detective… both in New Orleans and here in Arlington. But he knew that the _caliber_ of people he could have pissed off was much lighter than the people that JJ could have pissed off in her time with the Bureau. And maybe even with the Pentagon. He was just kidding himself if he didn't think that Jennifer Jareau was the power player in this relationship. This was her turf, her world. His time here was just a blip. She'd worked this world for years before meeting him, and despite his regular protests, she would likely work it for years to come. It was something he liked to conveniently forget.

The next question was… what did he do about it? Rather than wait for her to come home and puzzle over this new little mystery together, Will took a deep breath and pulled out his phone.

There was one person who could likely get to the bottom of this… no matter how much Will loathed having to call him.

**To be continued…**


	3. Unease

**Disclaimer**: **You know the drill… Not mine, yadda, yadda, yadda…**

**3. Unease**

Aaron Hotchner had a feeling.

It wasn't a good feeling.

And after many years of being in bad situations, he knew not to ignore this feeling.

Part of him wondered if it was a left over feeling from the fallout over Prentiss. It hadn't been easy on the team. Hell, it hadn't been easy on him either. He hadn't been prepared for things going down the way they had. And now he was left with this horrible secret. A horrible, yet wonderful secret… because it meant that Emily was still alive, even at the expense of lying to a group of people he trusted more than anyone else in his life.

But even knowing that those regrets were slinking in the shadows, following him and haunting him – and knowing that dark days lay ahead for the BAU - he still couldn't ignore that damned feeling. It was like a cold hand at the back of his neck, keeping him alert and uncomfortable.

He was driving down the dark street towards his place and he couldn't help but canvass the neighborhood with well-practiced eyes. Even though nothing stood out to him, his instincts told him that it was a good thing Jack had requested to stay at his Aunt Jessica's for the night.

Hotch pulled the SUV into the driveway and turned off the ignition. He was hesitant to go inside, but he knew it needed to be done. And he preferred to do it without his gun drawn. He'd like to think he wasn't becoming paranoid of his own home. Reaching up unconsciously, as if a nervous tic, Hotch rubbed one of the ever-present physical scars that George Foyet had left on him. A constant reminder of what he could only wish he could conveniently forget…

When he realized what he was doing, Hotch let out a huff of a breath and pushed the SUV's door open. He was being ridiculous. Without another thought he opened the rear SUV door and grabbed the stuff that he promised himself he wouldn't look at tonight but knew he would anyway. A quick stop at the mailbox and he was opening his door, ready to put all thought of bad feelings and past fears out of his head.

A handwritten envelope caught his eye amid the usual suspects of bills and marketing ads. He frowned as set everything else down. He made quick work of opening it and his frown deepened as he pulled the single sheet of paper out, unfolding it.

His fingers tightened enough to crinkle the paper, his rage contained in that simple act. Yes, it was a good thing Jack wasn't home.

**DEAD.**

He stared at the word, hoping that it would just go away on its own. But it didn't. Blinking didn't help either. And before he could even start thinking about what it could all mean, the chirping of his cell phone pierced the heavy silence.

Frowning, he looked down at the caller ID. That feeling from before was back to the forefront tenfold as he answered a call from the last person he would ever have expected.

"Will? What is it?"

**To be continued…**


	4. Personal

**Disclaimer:** **If you think I own Criminal Minds, you must have hit your head. I suggest you see a doctor…**

**4. Personal**

Penelope Garcia giggled into her cell phone as a hand snaked its way around her waist. She slapped it away in half-hearted censure.

"Jennifer Jareau, it's been nearly four weeks since you've let me see my godson," she scolded into the device before turning around to look at her boyfriend Kevin Lynch. He wiggled his eyebrows at her in mischief before heading into the kitchen.

"I don't care that you've been busy. I've been busy too. But since Emily… well… since all of that, we need to be better about staying in touch. We can't let excuses get in the way of our extremely exclusive Girly Frappucino Time. You know very well that I refuse to be reduced to the eccentric Aunt Penny that Henry only sees at Christmas time," she reminded her friend. Penelope grinned at JJ's answering laugh.

"Henry will _always _be the very special VIP guest at our Girly Frappucino Times, even when we're old-but-still-sexy-as-all-hell fogies. So Garcia sayeth, so shall be," she joked. She paused before laughing. "Fine, fine, fine. I'll let you go… BUT we'll make a date for later next week, okay, buttercup? Now, get home to that handsome detective and give him a kiss and squeeze for me." She chuckled again with a bit of evil glee. "Of course that's were. What? A girl can't live vicariously? He's got a nice butt… Alrighty. Bye."

She ended the call and gave her boyfriend a smile in greeting. "And there's the other person in life with a nice, squeezable butt…" Kevin chuckled and leaned to give her a quick peck hello.

"So nice to know how you prioritize," he joked before she grabbed him closer for a more proper kiss.

"Oh, squeezable butts are a definite number two on my list," she said after pulling back. Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Just number two? What's number one?" he asked. Penelope grinned.

"Are you kidding? If a man can't speak my language, what's he worth?" she asked.

"Language?"

"Uh, zany, rambling techno-babble?" she said with a look that plainly said "duh". Kevin looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I definitely corner the market on zany. I can work up a good ramble… And I'm better at techno-babble than I am at English… so…" Penelope wrapped her arms around his neck.

"So that's why you're my number one man," she said lovingly. Kevin grinned.

"Awww…" he kissed her again. When he pulled back, he looked thoughtful again. "I think I now know why we make Agent Morgan sick." Penelope laughed as she went back to the stuff she'd dropped onto the kitchen table when she'd gotten home.

"My hunk-a chocolate sweetness is just jealous. We've got it all, baby," she said with a wink.

"I took the liberty of starting supper. I figured you'd be home late after your last case," he told her. She set some of her stuff back down onto the table and looked at him with a happy sigh.

"I take it all back… You are the _only_ man…"she said airily. He laughed again before turning back to what he'd been neglecting.

"There was a letter for you in the mail. It's on the counter. I didn't open it since it looked personal," he said, stirring the food to make sure it didn't scorch. Without much thought, Penelope picked up said piece of mail and opened it.

"Ohhhhhh…" she groaned in disbelief and shock as she flattened the piece of paper onto the counter. Kevin looked over her shoulder and gasped.

**DEAD.**

It was definitely personal…

**To be continued…**


	5. Connection

**Disclaimer:**** Fine, you talked me into it. I own Criminal Minds… Hehehe. Maybe not, but hey, a girl can try.**

**5. Connection**

Some days, it was nice to not have a case. It was nice to just be in one place and not have to worry about all the evil, death and destruction in the world.

But then, there were days where a mountain of paperwork never ended and a case seemed like a saving grace. That had definitely been today. Two non-stop, grueling cases in a row and then… smack dab in the middle of tedium. Derek Morgan was meant to be digging into an unsub's mind and chasing them through alleyways. Being all manly-man, as Garcia would say. He was _not_ supposed to be paperworking criminals to death.

He let out a dry chuckle as he let himself into his apartment. _Paperwork_ was not mentioned in any of the recruiting material… and for good reason. Dotting the i's and crossing the t's just wasn't something people thought of when thinking of the dangerously glamorous job within the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

He threw his bag on the floor just inside the door. Derek Morgan was ready for a night of _not_ thinking about the FBI. Just as he was about to go grab himself a beer and flick on Sports Center his phone rang. Derek smiled as he looked at the caller ID. Definitely a way to _not_ think about work…

"Hey there, baby girl!" he greeted happily as he answered.

"Derek?" There was a waver to the voice that suddenly put him on high alert.

"Sarah? What's going on?" he asked. His sister hesitated for a moment.

"Mom didn't want me to call you. She thinks it's just a hoax," she said, her voice clipped and obviously worried. Derek frowned.

"_What_ is just a hoax?" he asked. This didn't sound good.

"I'll send you a picture of what I'm talking about. It came in the mail today," she said. It took a few moments, but Derek's phone beeped, alerting him to a text message.

"Just a second, let me look," he told her before going into the message. He swallowed hard as the picture loaded. It was a postcard. But that wasn't what grabbed his attention.

**DEAD.**

It was big, bold and right in the middle of the card. There was no postmark. It had obviously been dropped into his mother's mailbox by hand. He flipped to the other picture Sarah had sent. It was a photo of the opposite side. It was a picture of Washington, D.C.

His heart started racing as he thought through possible reasons… and he rushed to where his mail awaited him. Quickly tossing out material that didn't matter to him, his heart nearly stopped as he picked up a postcard… this one with a picture of the Chicago skyline at sunset. He flipped it over… No postmark again.

**DEAD.**

A simple, scary message in two places nearly 750 miles apart. Without a doubt, HE was the connection.

"Sarah…" Derek said, getting back to the phone. "Let me talk to Mom."

**To be continued…**


	6. Instinct

**Disclaimer:**** I'm curious, if it **_**was**_** actually mine, what exactly would you do? LOL.**

**A/N:**** Slight delay on this part as I'm not quite sure I had Reid's part the way I wanted it. But, reading through it again, it works for now. One more small part before the meat of the story gets going.**

**6. Instinct**

Spencer Reid wasn't exactly your typical FBI field agent. He knew that he'd been recruited to the Behavioral Analysis Unit for his mental prowess, not exactly his physical stature. And in keeping with that frame of thought, he usually found himself at home with a book after work, or if he felt exceptionally social, maybe the university library within walking distance from his home.

As he arrived at said home he set most of his things on the table, keeping with him the things that he knew he would need for an evening at the library. After a mind-numbing amount of paperwork the past day or so, there were a few items that he'd made note on in the last case that he wanted to catch up on.

The shrill ringtone of his phone interrupted his thoughts, causing him to close the door before he could exit the apartment again. He hesitated for a moment before answering the unrecognized number. Over the years with the BAU, instinct had become something he trusted in more and more, albeit slower than most… and his instincts were now telling him this was not going to be a good call.

He let the phone ring again before he finally answered.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dr. Spencer Reid?"

"Yes?" Spencer tilted his head to the side. He wasn't the one to usually get social calls, and when he did, no one called him 'Doctor'.

"You are Diana Reid's son?" the voice asked.

He swallowed hard. Damned instincts. "Yes."

"This is Dr. Mark Reinhart from…."

"I know where you're from. What is wrong with my mother?" Spencer interrupted, not wanting to hear the bureaucratic run-around they like to call social niceties.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with your mother," Dr. Reinhart informed. "But… there was an incident."

"Incident? What kind of incident?"

"There was a piece of mail that came in today. We are still evaluating how, exactly, it got into her hands unsupervised… but it caused a pretty extreme reaction that forced us to administer a mild relaxant. She's asleep now," the doctor said. Spencer frowned.

"Reaction? From a piece of mail? What was in it?"

The doctor hesitated for a moment. "The thing is, Dr. Reid… there was nothing _in_ it. It was simply a postcard…"

"Of what?"

"It was a postcard of Washington, D.C."

"What was the message?" he asked.

"That's where things are a little confused. When we saw your mother's reaction, she kept crying out your name, so we'd assumed that the message had been from you," the doctor explained.

"But?" Spencer prodded.

"But when we saw what was written on it, we were even more confused."

"What did it say?" Spencer rubbed his temple; the man was giving him a headache. He couldn't seem to answer a simple question.

"It was just one word, Dr. Reid. It simply said 'DEAD'. Bold, black, block letters," he said finally. Spencer let out a breath.

"DEAD. On a Washington, D.C. postcard. What was the postmark?" he asked.

The doctor took a breath. "That's one of the more confusing parts of this, and something we are still trying to figure out. The postcard did not have a postmark. It seems to have been hand delivered. And as we look through the records, your mother had no visitors." That last part of the doctor's statement squeezed Spencer's heart. It had been awhile since he'd seen his mother in person. And he had yet to send out his correspondence for the week to her.

"No postmark. And no visitors. Did someone on your staff deliver it?" Alarms were sounding in his head and he wrapped his free arm around his torso.

"We are checking into that, Dr. Reid. If someone did, it is against protocol. Especially a message of such ambiguous nature. Your mother was certain this was a message that you were dead," the doctor told him.

"I can see why you would need the relaxant. The real question is, was it a threat for her or a threat for me?" Spencer said mostly to himself. Then he took a deep breath and addressed the doctor again. "Could you send me close-up photos of both sides of the postcard? I'm going to need to look at them."

"Absolutely. I'll get pictures as soon as we hang up. And I'll keep looking into my staff and let you know what I find out. I want to assure you that your mother's safety is of the utmost importance. We will add double security for the facility until we can figure out the source," he said.

Spencer nodded, even though he knew the other man couldn't see him. "Thank you. I will give my mother a call tomorrow."

"I think that would be a good idea. It may go far in keeping her calm if she could hear your voice," he confirmed. He thanked the other man again before hanging up to await the promised photos. As he paced, his eyes caught on the pile of mail he had yet to look through. Instinct called to him yet again as he crossed the few steps to where he'd set it down. Piecing through it, his hand stopped on top of a colorful postcard. This one of a sunny Las Vegas. His brain quickly calculated the statistic of how likely this was simply a coincidence. He wasn't comforted. He flipped the card over. Written in bold, black block letters was one word.

**DEAD. **

There was no postmark…

Spencer was 100% certain he didn't need photos to confirm that this entire situation was bigger than just him and his mother.


	7. Hunted

**Disclaimer****: Nope. Still not mine.**

**A/N:**** Sorry for the delay again. Real life obligations and all that. Plus, I had a bit of hesitance again in writing David Rossi. I adore his character, but for some reason, his voice has been a bit harder to hear. **

**7. Hunted**

David Rossi loved hunting. Oh, he wasn't the big game sort of guy. He had enough "big game" with his usual, unpredictable day job hours. No, he enjoyed his duck and his pheasant. And if the rare inclination hit, sometimes he would go as big as turkey. There was some sort of reassurance in knowing that the duck, pheasant, and sometimes turkey couldn't shoot back at him. And knowing that was probably what brought him here today.

He smiled as he opened the cabin door and dropped his go-bag without caring where it landed. They'd all earned a couple of days off and he was going to use it to his every advantage. He loved his money, as was more than apparent some days, and he loved what his money could buy him… But more than anything, he loved that his money afforded him the lifestyle to live simply. A federal job didn't exactly scream 'simple'. But when the days allowed, he could at least figuratively drop off the face of the earth and not worry that something would fall apart in his absence.

The only thing that expected his attention and diligence out here was his shotgun, his boat, and the wilderness. And the occasional pad of paper and pencil should a stray book idea crop up. He still had those ideas once in awhile. And some days he regretted not being able to spend the amount of time he would have liked shaping those ideas into what his publisher would deem as another best seller. "Retirement" had been good to him.

Some days, the word retirement toyed with his mind and he wondered if slipping back into relative predictability would be the best option for him these days. He could spend the rest of his days sitting in this very cabin hunting and writing to his heart's content.

But that was never going to work. Not really.

The chase was back in his blood. The challenge. And he couldn't just walk away like he had those years ago. And the circumstances had been different back then. Now, with everything that had happened over the past months, he'd feel like he was just giving up. And he was no quitter. With that, he smirked to himself and walked into the modest kitchen. A nice glass of wine called to his spirit, and he wasn't one to deny it.

The cabin wasn't overly large. It was meant to be a refuge for one. But that didn't mean David Rossi skimped on the good stuff. He smiled to himself as he went to the stocked wine rack and took out a 2003 vintage Tignanello. He had done well to ask one of his neighbors, Grace, to take care of the place every once in awhile. Grace, and her husband Wade, had owned the cabin four miles down the road for twenty years before he'd bought this place. They'd all become fast friends as the next friendly face was miles away. And to that end, Grace had taken it upon herself to "take care" of David Rossi, especially knowing what he did and where it could take him. Thus, a well-stocked wine rack and fridge. Not to mention a clean cabin.

As he popped the cork on the wine bottle, he let it breathe for a few moments, going over to where Grace had stacked whatever mail that actually made it out to him in the backwoods. Most people didn't even know he had this property, which was a good thing. But still, the ever-tenacious ones could find a way… and they usually did.

His eye caught on a hand-written envelope, which was extremely rare for him to find after all of the years of coming out here. It was addressed to him personally, which only piqued his interest. He picked up the plain envelope and opened it.

Inside was a simple piece of paper. His mind was already going a mile a minute as he unfolded the paper and read its limited contents.

**DEAD.**

He took a deep breath as he studied the note. It was a Quantico postmark. For the person to have mailed this when they did they had to have a deep understanding of his habits. Not to mention an understanding of how the BAU's "A" team operated. Only someone with that knowledge could know how to predict the off schedule. Those facts alone sent a chill up his spine.

Yes, David Rossi loved hunting. But this time… he had the distinct displeasure of being the hunted. He didn't like it.


	8. Feelings, Secrets & Hostilities

**Disclaimer:**** If only… *sigh***

**A/N:**** Sorry it's taken a bit to get this updated. I was on a roll and then real life had to have a case of the hiccups. And yes… I did change the character pairings to JJ and Hotch, for more reasons than just the very obvious. I do have a plan, you know, despite what it may seem like. *grin* Outside of all of that, here we go! Hope you like it…**

**8. Feelings, Secrets, & Hostilities**

Aaron Hotchner sat in the dim light of his living room as he processed the events of the evening. The last thing he wanted to do was to go back into the office and open a case file. Especially on what appeared to be was going to be the team. This wasn't just some hoax as he'd wanted to think, nor was it an isolated incident.

After Will's frantic call regarding a letter that was eerily a carbon copy of the letter he had received, Hotch had immediately placed an urgent call to JJ knowing that she had not been home when Will had phoned. And while Hotch had historically not had a problem with William LaMontagne Jr. in a broad sense of it all, it had irked him that the other man had requested that he keep JJ from knowing what was going on. Will had wanted him to 'take care of this' without causing JJ any unnecessary alarm. But what Will hadn't known was that the very same letter he was asking Hotch to 'fix' was also sitting on Hotch's own kitchen table. Just that connection alone said that this went far beyond any sort of jurisdiction – legal or otherwise – of Will LaMontagne.

His team was _his_ team. And JJ would always be a part of his team, no matter where she went, who she was with, or how long she was gone. After talking with her, knowing that she was furious with Will's decision to call him without her knowledge and the demand that Hotch keep it between the two men grounded him in some strange way. It reassured him that JJ still _wanted_ to be a part of the team. Despite the limited time they usually had between cases, Hotch was still trying with everything he had to get her back to the BAU. He would keep trying every channel, every avenue, and every connection until it worked or she told him to stop. When he'd brought her back to assist with Emily's case… it reinforced everyone's belief that JJ was meant for the BAU. With Emily's "death", the team needed her more than ever. He even when so far as to say that maybe _he_ needed her more than ever. Being one of only less than a handful of people that knew Emily Prentiss was actually alive was a lot more to bear than he'd anticipated. Especially being the one to conduct the team's assessments. But knowing that JJ held that secret too helped ease the burden somewhat.

They'd ended their phone conversation with JJ telling him she would try to stop by the BAU in the morning, her own letter in tow so they could compare. At this point, with no leads and no end game in sight, anything was worth looking at a couple times with a couple of different perspectives.

It was only moments after hanging up with her that his phone started ringing again. First had been Morgan, panicking about postcards with death threats. Then there had been Garcia leaving a long, rambling message while he'd talked to Morgan about a letter that had been awaiting her at home. Reid had called a few minutes after he'd hung up with Morgan to let him know that he, too, had received a strange postcard… as well as his mother in Las Vegas.

Suddenly, small, isolated and hopefully easily-solvable had become large, worrisome and potentially time-consuming. Not to mention even more dangerous. There would have to be a call to Strauss and on most days he'd rather walk into traffic than make that call. Hotch rubbed a hand over his weary face. This had the potential makings of something worse than what George Foyet had inflicted on them all only a few years ago, and that's what scared him. This felt personal. And he knew that people making it "personal" with the BAU came along with the job. They were all extremely visible in high profile cases. It was a sacrifice they all made and tried to live with and shove to the back of their minds as best they could.

Unfortunately, a feeling wasn't going to get him anywhere. And he had nowhere to start until he got the team together. It was with that thought that his cell phone rang again. He picked it up and braced for more.

"Hotchner," he answered, fully expecting to hear Dave's sardonic voice or Seaver's immediate questioning. They were the only agents Hotch hadn't heard from yet and he'd received no answer when he'd tried to call both of them.

"Aaron," a voice greeted. Even after years of not speaking, Hotch would know that voice anywhere.

"Jason?" he asked, shocked. There was a small chuckle from the other end, and if Hotch hadn't already been shocked, he'd have been at that somewhat lighthearted sound. Apparently the time away had done Jason Gideon well.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to skip the pleasantries, Aaron. I think there might be a situation," the other man said, his voice as serious as it ever had been in knowing him. Hotch frowned.

"Let me guess. A letter?" he asked. There was silence on the other end for a moment.

"I'd ask if you were really that good of a profiler if you could guess that over the phone, but I'll just assume that means there have been more letters?" Jason asked. Hotch rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I received one earlier today," he said. Then he took a breath. "And so did JJ. As well as Garcia. And Morgan and Reid each received postcards, along with their loved ones out of state."

Silence fell over the phone again, and Hotch knew very well that meant Jason was deep into his pondering over what it all meant. If anyone could put abstract pieces back together again better than Spencer Reid, it was definitely Jason Gideon.

"I thought that JJ was no longer part of the team," Jason said finally. Hotch's eyes widened at that fairly recent bit of news.

"You've kept up to date," he said, only barely hiding his surprise. Jason chuckled again.

"Only in the last 12 or so hours. Spencer monopolized my post office box," he admitted. Hotch smiled for a moment, but then frowned in thought.

"Do you think the connection is one of your cases, Jason?" he asked, his mind back on the 'personal' angle. Jason was quiet for a second.

"I can't think of anything else. I'm no longer part of the team either, Aaron. Why would I get a letter after all this time? Postmarked just a few days ago, no less. It has to be one of _our_ cases. One where JJ was still with the BAU as well," he concluded. Hotch continued to frown. It just didn't feel right, but he knew it was the only connection at this point. And Dave not calling him, along with Seaver – at least at this point – supported that theory. At least it was a finite timeline they could research for the moment. The crossover of Jason and JJ's tenures at the BAU was relatively short.

"That gives us a start. But you've got a significant connection to Spencer too," Hotch reminded the other man as he threw out other possibilities that could connect their former unit leader to this situation. Jason sighed.

"But I didn't open that post office box until yesterday, Aaron. I've been out of touch with anything FBI or BAU for over four years now. I haven't spoken to Spencer since before then," he said with a touch of regret. He'd hated leaving just a note for the young man that he'd often looked upon as a son. And there was still so much he had to read yet in all of Spencer's writings. So much to catch up on.

"If the person who sent you the letter knew all of that…" Hotch started, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. Profiler instincts didn't allow for a whole lot of sleep at night.

"That meant he knew _when_ to send the letter," Jason finished. The two men let that sink in for a moment.

"Jason, we're being watched. Closely."

"I know. But who is doing the watching?"

That really was the question.

Jennifer Jareau tried _very_ hard to not slam the door as she walked into her home. Henry was dozing on her shoulder and the last thing she wanted was to disturb him. He hadn't been feeling well and sleep was kind of at a premium these past few days.

She spotted Will's shield and identification on one of the end tables. She knew his gun was locked in the drawer below it. It meant that he was home, which was good because she didn't want to have the conversation they were going to have over the phone. JJ quickly ascended the stairs to where her son's room was located. As she tucked him into his blankets and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, she sensed Will's presence at the door.

When she turned to look at him, he was leaning against the door frame, watching his sleeping son. It took her a few moments to gather her thoughts and make sure she didn't start anything in this neutral zone.

"You're home," Will said quietly. JJ nodded.

"Henry dropped off in the car on the way back. I didn't want to wake him," she answered before slipping by her boyfriend and heading back downstairs.

"You alright, chere?" Will asked as he followed her. JJ knew she wasn't exactly the best at hiding her emotions. And right now, she was pretty sure her anger was telegraphing itself at alarming rates. When she turned to look at Will again, he was watching her with that Southern nonchalance that belied his alertness.

"I received an interesting phone call on my way home, Will," she said, her voice clipped. Her meaning was very clear. He didn't react for a long moment before he finally wiped a hand over his face.

"I told him not to involve you," he muttered, anger apparent in his soft voice. JJ just stared at him.

"You call Hotch with a _threat_ to our family and expected him to _not _call me? He may be one of the best profilers in the world, Will, but he needs all of the _pieces_ to actually put things together. I happen to _be_ one of those pieces," she hissed. "And what did you think _not_ telling me would do for you, Will? I'm not stupid. You wouldn't think I would know something was going on?"

"I don't think you're stupid," Will countered. "That wasn't why I wanted him to not tell you." JJ tilted her head to one side as she crossed her arms. Well, this was taking an interesting turn.

"Give me one good reason. Just one…" she told him, knowing full well there really was no good reason to keep this from her. His hesitation told her that Will either didn't know one… or he didn't want to tell her his reason. Either way, it wasn't good enough. "Tell me Will!"

"I didn't want you involved with the BAU again, JJ!" he answered forcefully. She blinked. Her eyes couldn't focus on any one thing as she looked around the room, thinking over the implications of that statement. In the flash of a few moments, his attitude over the past few years toward her working were suddenly so sharp and in focus. She'd always thought he just had a thing against the BAU and the hours it required. Every so often, she'd even thought maybe it was a little jealousy over her close connection with the team. But now…

"You didn't want the little woman getting involved again," she said, resigned. She shook her head as she looked at the man she had been so sure loved her.

"I want us to be a family, chere. We can't do that when you aren't here to have one," he said, extending a hand as if pleading with her. "I thought things were getting better when you went to the Pentagon. The hours were better, you were home more often than not. But what I just realized these last couple of weeks is that you are just as invested with them. The only difference is that even though you are here this time physically, your mind is always there. Never here with us."

JJ stared at him. The secret of Emily's real life in Europe sat bitterly on her tongue. Her mind would always be on her friend – her welfare, her travels, and what it was that JJ could do to help her when she could. But Will couldn't know that truth. No one could. And even if she could tell him, she suddenly and fiercely didn't _want_ to tell him.

"You make it sound like I think you and Henry are only a pastime. A hobby," she said with a twist to her lip. He hesitated for only a second, but it was enough to validate her thought. It hurt.

"No, chere. That's not what I mean."

"Yes, it is." She could see that lie all over him. JJ hadn't been with a team of profilers for years and _not_ picked up a thing or two.

Will was silent again as he watched her just as warily as she him. "We could work this out, Jaje, if you would only meet me half-way."

"Half-way," she repeated. JJ shook her head. "What you want _isn't_ half-way." Will reached out and took her hand in his. JJ resisted the urge to pull away. She used to be comforted by his touch. Any arguments they'd had in the past could easily be calmed just by simple contact. But JJ knew that this discussion would leave things changed. What they had wouldn't be the same as soon as conversation stopped. And it saddened her.

"I just want us to be together, chere. A family. Is that really so bad?" he asked, his accent getting heavier as emotion got more clouded. This time, she did pull her hand away from his.

"What _is_ your definition of family, Will?" she asked. "What is it you're looking for from me that isn't fitting your picture?"

"I want you to be here," he said softly. JJ shook her head.

"I am here, Will. I come home to you every day, I haven't missed anything having to do with Henry… we do the typical family things together. What doesn't fit for you?" she asked. She could see on his face how uncomfortable he was. And part of her knew the answer already. He wanted marriage. He wanted to be able to come home to a wife that didn't have an often times secretive and sometimes dangerous job… home-cooked meals and more kids running under foot.

"I thought we were getting there, JJ," he said with a shake of his head. Silence fell as they both realized just how deep this chasm was between them.

"You've been manipulating me, Will." she said quietly in realization. The words could have been yelled with all of the anger behind them. "All these years… playing these little games thinking you could eventually convince me to do what _you_ want."

"No…" Will started. Her blue eyes were like icy fire.

"_Don't_… Don't you dare lie to me, Will LaMontagne," she spat. "When you gave me your badge in New York when we found out I was pregnant, I _thought _you were different. I really did. I thought that you accepted who I was and what I did and were willing to love me with all of that in the picture. Look at how we met, after all." JJ rubbed a hand over her weary eyes. He'd given up his badge to convince her to stay together and be a family. But she often forgot how quickly he'd picked up that very badge again when the opportunity arose.

"I want to marry you, Jaje," Will said softly, hoping that his earnest plea would be heard. She looked up at him again.

"No, Will. You want to marry Jennifer Jareau, housewife. That's _not_ who I am." There'd been little red flags all over the place, she realized. She should have seen the inevitable outcome. Jennifer Jareau was just not _made_ for William LaMontagne. She couldn't be what he really wanted _and_ be happy with herself. It was just not possible. It was no more possible than it was for him to change what he wanted.

"I love you," he said plainly, his blue eyes locked on her face. She nodded.

"I love you too," she said back. It was true. She did. But that didn't change anything. Not really. But that was to be another conversation for another time. There was a bigger issue at hand here.

"Where is the letter, Will?" she asked, realizing that he hadn't once indicated where it was after the conversation headed down a completely different road. It took him a moment of internal deliberation before he walked over to the drawer where he kept his gun. JJ knew he would have kept this a secret from her forever if it had meant keeping her away from what he constituted a threat to his happy vision of a home. And that made her sad, too.

"Here," he said, taking the letter out of the envelope addressed to the both of them and setting it on the kitchen table.

She didn't say anything, needing a moment to gather her thoughts again. And when it became apparent that she wasn't going to say anything, Will shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his eyes darting around the room. Anywhere but at her.

"I'm sorry, JJ," he said sadly before heading up to their bedroom. She stayed behind, of course, because the small moment she thought she'd needed was turning into a larger moment. Her eyes kept getting caught on the troublesome piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table.

JJ crossed the room slowly and those big black letters became even bigger and bolder as she looked down at it. From her conversation with Hotch, it was likely someone was after the team. And just like it had been with Frank Breitkopf and with George Foyet, this person was more than willing to work their way into the agents' personal lives. It made her just as uneasy as she knew Hotch was. She let out the breath that she had unconsciously been holding.

This could get very ugly if they didn't get a handle on it soon.

The place really hadn't changed at all. It was the first thought that hit him as he poured a cup of the BAU's notoriously strong coffee from its pot with a smile. With the hours they pulled, the stronger the better. And even after years away he could still smell the quality of the coffee at ten paces.

"Jason Gideon," a steely voice greeted. He looked over his shoulder to see the predictably unfriendly face of Section Chief Erin Strauss watching him as if he were an ant on the floor. Jason just smiled a small smile. It was too early to try to match the woman's seemingly natural hostility.

"Chief Strauss," he greeted before turning back to put his two sugars into his beverage.

"I'd heard the rumblings, but I knew I wouldn't believe it until I saw it," she clipped out, staring heavily at his borrowed 'visitor' badge when he turned to face her. Jason smiled again.

"That's always been your problem, Erin," he commented lightly. He paused for a moment as he took a quick sip of the steamy beverage and leaned back against the counter. "You doubt too much and you trust too little." If anything, her already steely glare became even more so.

"I assume you are here for a reason?" she asked pointedly, crossing her arms. The last thing she apparently wanted was to have Jason Gideon in this building. He would have thought she had bigger fish to fry…

"Not everyone is here just to annoy the piss out of you like I am, Erin," David Rossi's voice said from behind her. There was a cough of a laugh as Derek Morgan walked by the group to enter the bullpen. Strauss just glared at the Italian man before letting out a huff of a breath and stalking off.

"You always made annoying people an art form, Dave. Good to see that it hasn't changed," Jason greeted with a small smile before reaching out to shake the other man's hand. Rossi just grinned.

"Yeah, well, she just makes it _way_ too easy and who am I to pass up the opportunity," he answered. "It's good to see you, Jason. Didn't expect to see your face walking in these doors this morning."

"You'd have known if you'd answered your phone, Dave," Hotch greeted the two as he arrived as well. "We have a situation. Everyone's on their way in." Rossi looked between Hotch and Jason.

"I assumed as much when I read your text this morning. And I might have to add to the caseload, myself," he said.

"Letter," both Hotch and Jason said together. Rossi just nodded, looking between the two.

"I'd wondered about that," he muttered before following them into the bullpen to where Morgan sat. The four men eyed each other uneasily for a moment, none of them much for idle conversation at 7 o'clock in the morning, before Morgan sat back in his chair and looked to Jason.

"So… you leave without a goodbye and show up again without a hello?" he asked. Hotch leveled the other man with a warning glare, knowing how the younger man could get.

"Morgan," he grumbled. Jason just smiled.

"Hello, Derek," he responded. The other man grinned before holding out a hand.

"Now that's more like it," Morgan said. "Good to see you again, Gideon." Before anyone could say anything else Penelope Garcia announced her presence.

"Four men standing around a cubicle this early in the morning… That means there's either porn or you're comparing things that Garcia doesn't want to see compared in a professional work environment. Put 'em away, boys, or I'll be forced to pull out the camera," she called out teasingly, holding a magazine up to block them from her view.

"Ah, Penelope Garcia, the Queen of All Things Inappropriate," Rossi said with a hint of exasperated affection.

"Don't you know it, buster," she confirmed, pointing her feather topped pen in his general direction before lowering the magazine.

"You're lucky that Strauss isn't in here anymore," Hotch scolded her lightly. She just shrugged as she tucked her pen into her magazine. Then she looked up with a frown as she realized one of the four faces wasn't actually Spencer Reid. As soon as it registered who it actually was, she let out a loud screech of surprise and before he knew it, Jason had his arms full of one super-excited and babbling Penelope Garcia.

"Ohmygodohmygod, oh… my… GOD!" she exclaimed hugging him even tighter. "You're here!"

"Baby girl, the man has got to _breathe_," Morgan warned, tapping the technical analyst on her back. It took another few seconds before that got through her head and the blonde quickly let him go, stepping back.

"I'm sorry! I just… it's just… you… you're back!" she said, clapping her hands together happily.

"It's good to see you too, Penelope," Jason choked out, rubbing his neck slightly.

Garcia opened her mouth to say something, but Morgan quickly stood and covered her mouth with his hand. "No, baby girl. You are _not_ going to give this man your version of 20 questions, alright? It's early, he just got here, we've got things to be doing, and from first glance he's doing just fine. Alright?"

Everyone, even Hotch, cracked a smile as the blonde pigtails bobbed when she nodded her agreement. Morgan leveled her with one more 'I'm serious' look before dropping his hand. Garcia's lips were pursed in her attempt to stem the flow of questions, but after a moment she let out a calming breath.

"Okay. So, we've got all of the fearless leaders in one place. That's good, that's confidence-inducing… now tell me there's a reason we can _all_ be fearless. Tell me that Gideon's sudden appearance _isn't_ a sign that the apocalypse is nigh," she ended on the plea. When the guys all looked at each other with uncertainty, Garcia let out another breath. "Oh, jinkies. I'm sensing some bad joo-joo." She clasped her laptop closer to her chest as if trying to ward off said joo-joo.

"I'm sorry I'm…" Reid broke the tense silence as he rushed to where everyone was standing. He paused heavily as he saw Gideon among them. "… late." The last word was pretty much exhaled on a heavy breath. Everyone was smiling at him in greeting, but he just frowned. Rather than say anything Reid went to his desk and proceeded to take off his coat and set his briefcase down, all under the watchful eye of his team.

Knowing that there was some air that needed to be cleared before things could even resemble the word functional, Hotch nodded his head to Jason and then turned to the three others on the team.

"Let's head up to the conference room, we'll talk more there. Jason and Reid will join us when they're ready," he said, leading the way. Rossi, Morgan and Garcia followed, but not without throwing curious glances back.

Jason waited until the conference room door was closed before he turned back to the younger man. It didn't take a profiler to see that Spencer Reid was upset at this new development. "I got your letters."

"I didn't get any of yours," Reid retorted sarcastically, still not looking up as he took a couple of files out of his briefcase and set them on his desk. There was a heavy silence before Reid finally looked at Jason. "I thought you would come back…"

Jason let out a sigh as he leaned against the other desk. "It wasn't a question of coming back or not, Spencer. I needed to find myself again…"

Reid cleared his throat uncomfortably, his eyes not able to focus on one thing. "And did you? Find yourself?"

This time Jason had to look away. "I'd like to think I've started to. I'll be honest, Spencer. It's been a long, hard road. And a lonely one…"

"It didn't have to be," Reid said quickly, making his point known. Jason nodded with a small smile.

"I know that, Spencer. But sometimes, the lonely road is the _only_ road. No one else could put me back together. Only I could do that," he said. "I just got back to the DC area a couple of days ago. It's been a kind of test for me. There are so many memories here that I had to know that being back here wouldn't bring back all of the bad."

"Picked a hell of a time to come back," Reid shrugged. Jason blew out a breath.

"Yeah. There's a part of me that likes to forget that I'd spent a good chunk of years in the FBI. It doesn't just all go away," he said. Reid frowned again.

"No. _We _don't just go away," he gritted out, anger apparent in his visage once more. Jason hadn't meant his statement to sound like he'd wanted to forget everything and every_one_ associated with the FBI. But that was definitely the way the young man had taken it. He opened his mouth to respond.

"Gideon? Spence?" a soft voice interjected before he could begin to apologize. Jason looked over to see a familiar blonde woman frowning in confusion.

"JJ," he said, blinking at her presence. He knew that she was no longer part of the team, and the similar visitor's badge on her lapel confirmed that, but it was still a bit of a shock to see her. Apparently it was to Reid, too, as the young man rushed to her and quickly enveloped her in a hug. Part of it was happiness to see her, but Jason also knew that the other part of it was to escape the uncomfortable conversation.

Jason gave JJ a tight smile before excusing himself, pointing up to the conference room to confirm where he was going. JJ gave him a quick nod before turning her attention back to Reid.

He quickly ascended the stairs and walked the very familiar hallway down to where the rest of the team waited for him. Jason opened the door to see all pairs of eyes dart in his direction. He closed the door behind him.

"Reid?" Rossi asked with a raised eyebrow.

"He's with JJ," Jason said with a sad smile as he sat down in one of the empty chairs. "And he's angry with me." The rest of the team nodded in sympathetic understanding.

"He'll come around. Reid's always been a little more cerebral than the rest of us when it comes to emotion," Garcia waved it off. Then her eyes widened as she caught on to the rest of the information. "Buttercup? Buttercup's here?" The analyst stood up to peek out of the window to confirm that information. There, indeed, was a blonde head standing in the bullpen. Morgan frowned.

"Why would JJ…" he started, but then his brain made the connection. So did everyone else's.

"She got a letter too," Rossi concluded for everyone. Hotch's stern face only confirmed it. Garcia let out a sigh.

"Oh boy… this just gets better and better," she said, sitting down again with a huff.

"Shit," Morgan groaned in agreement as he sat back in his chair.

"Speaking of the letters," Hotch cleared his throat. "Has anyone heard from Seaver?"

Rossi frowned. "She mentioned that she was going to use the days off and go out of town with a few friends…" Hotch nodded.

"It's possible she hasn't gotten my call then. I just want to be sure we're not missing anything," he said. Rossi nodded slowly.

"Possible…" he said the pivotal word again, looking around at everyone else. For some reason, even knowing Ashley's plans for the group's supposed days off, the word hung in the air. It wasn't comfortable for any of them.

Jason sat back in his chair. He didn't know Ashley Seaver, but he knew that until they heard from her anything was _possible_.

**To be continued…**


End file.
